Too Tired to Stand
by J.B. Griffiths
Summary: Sometimes you're just too tired to move. Even if it leads to some awkward situations. The boys are exhausted after a long and tiring night at VidCon, and they both collapse onto the same bed due to being excessively tuckered out. Cuddling ensues, due to a cold room and being too tired to get under the covers. Minor Septiplier. One-shot.


Chapter 1

It turns out that the best and worst part about bunking with Sean William McLoughlin, or Mark's preferred nickname of Jack, is that going back to the hotel is his worst fear. Especially when he's on a kamikaze mission to be able to meet and greet with all of his fans.

Sure, Mark's totally for the share and care time with his fans. Heck, it more than makes his day. He whole-heartedly loves listening to their endless stories, equally basking and dishing out thanks and compliments. He could do it all day. All day- as in the daytime. Not to be a party-pooper, but he needed his sleep. But apparently, his hotel companion, who also happened to be his ride, did not. The bundle of energy known as Jack was constantly bouncing around, shouting in Mark's ear, and in perpetual vigilance of anybody who beckoned his presence. However, when you're at a Con surrounded by people dying for a minute of your attention, that meant pretty much everyone. Everyone, as in the thousands of fans, who are just as devoted to Jack as Jack is to them. So tossing the set time regulations out the window, Jack was set on staying as long as possible.

It's the third and last day, and they had been at the Con for the better part of the daylight hours and early into next morning. Finally, when the last clump of people dawdle out of the giant glass doors of the complex at a quarter past three, Mark taps his wrist pointedly in Jack's direction, who gave a reluctant (or incredibly tired) nod and starts to haul up the few of his personal belongings he brought with him, handing off some of his gifts to the crew with a slow smile. The clean up lasts all of fifteen minutes, before Mark has to practically manhandle his best friend out of the door. The lazy, apathetic smile that he earns for his efforts still is bright and eccentric as ever, just relaxed in some weird, sloppy way.

"Dibs on the first shower," Jack grunts as they climb back into the rental car.

Mark wants to protest. At least he didn't keep them up until four in the morning, but he's too tired to manage it. It stormed last night, see, and Mark barely slept through the crashing of thunder and whistle of wind. Plus, he spent all day talking and interacting with people, which to be honest, is more than a little draining. Which means Mark is really freaking wiped and all he really wants to do right now is go back to the hotel room and curl up in a ball and sleep for like a billion years.

Jack is exhausted too. Mark can tell by the way his shoulders slump forward when he sits, and how he doesn't bother thumbing on the radio. He forgets to signal when he's making a turn, too, which is really uncharacteristic, then mutters "whoops" and flips it on as they're driving down the new road, as though that made up for the earlier lapse.

Mark considers making Jack pull over and getting behind the wheel himself, but he's too tired. If they crash and burn in a fiery inferno, then he plans on sleeping through it. Only no matter how hard he tries as Jack pilots them back to the hotel, the most he can manage is a gray, sullen feeling. If feels like his very thoughts are covered in ash. He sits with his head pressed against the window while Jack parks and turns the car the off. He waits for the sound of his friend's door opening, of Jack getting out of the car. Instead there's a beat of silence and the ticking of the engine as it cools.

Finally, Jack says, "We're here."

Mark manages a soft grunt of acknowledgement but doesn't move.

"Merk." His accent is thickening his voice into a low drawl.

"I'm going to sleep here," Mark announces without opening his eyes.

"Sleep there and you're going to be miserable tomorrow," Jack says. "Member last time?"

Mark sort of does. Remembers that it would've been less painful if somebody sawed his head off with a rusty spork. He should maybe, probably, most likely, get himself up, inside, and onto a bed. And probably squeeze a shower in there somewhere.

Groaning, he forces his eyes open and finds Jack staring blearily through the windshield. His friend still has both hands on the steering wheel, like the car is going to start rolling any moment. Just to be sure it won't, Mark flops over a hand and gives the emergency brake a yank.

Getting from the rental into the hotel room takes forever, mostly because Jack spends three minutes trying to fit different keys into the doorknob before Mark realizes what his friend is up to and remembers for the both of them that this is one of those card jobs. Then it's another five minutes trying to figure out which of them has the keycard, and two more after that getting Jack's wallet out of his back pocket(Mark) and thumbing it open to get at the thin piece of plastic (Jack).

Finally, though, they get the door open and they get to stumble inside. Mark makes a beeline for his bed and falls on top of it without even bothering to take his shoes off. He almost lets out a moan at how soft it feels, but it turns out that anything more than breathing is too much effort. Sleep continues to elude him as he listens Jack clomp into the bathroom, dropping articles of clothing as he goes. Then there is an unmistakable sound of piss hitting a toilet bowl. Mark silently waits for the following flush, or maybe the shower to start up, but instead something solid knocks into the side of his bed then thuds down on top of it, making the mattress tremble. With gargantuous effort, he cracks open an eyelid.

Jack is lying next to him on his stomach. Shirtless. When Mark rolls his eye down along his best friend's body, he sees that Jack's jeans are hanging a little too low on his hips to be buttoned. Zipped either.

"Didn't flush," Mark says.

Lying as still as the proverbial rock, Jack grunts.

"Not gonna shower?" Mark tries. He doesn't even know why he's still talking, except that he needs a way to keep himself awake while he finds out what's wrong with this picture.

"T'morrow," Jack mumbles. He flops his head to the side, away from Mark, and then goes still again. But the ripple the movement sends through the bed cued Mark into the problem he's having and he reaches out the couple of inches he needs to with one elbow and nudges his best friend in the side. "Nnff," Jack complains.

"Dude. Get off my bed."

"Comfy."

"Your bed's comfy too," Mark points out. He'd push again, but he's used up all his energy. Even his eyelids are giving up on him now, sinking down and leaving him in the dark.

"'S too far."

Mark really doesn't have a comeback for that, so he just lies there and lets himself fall asleep.

* * *

He wakes up sometime later- not _enough_ later, apparently: judging from the way the sun has refused to rise and his head being as muzzy as ever. He's confused and slow enough that it takes him almost ten minutes to determine that the reason he woke up is because his best friend is wrapped around him like freaking octopus. He's not sure that Jack doesn't have eight hands either.

"Jack," he grunts.

Jack doesn't move.

" _Jack_ ," he tries again, this time accompanying the name with a labored shake of his torso. Jack shifts beside him, letting out a soft but not quite awake groan.

" _Sean!"_ Mark says louder, nudging him in the ribs with his one free elbow.

Jack tightens his grip. "'S too early, Marky," he burbles into Mark's chest, "Back't sleep."

Mark knows he has a point, but he's still stuck on the Jack being all over him thing. Especially since Jack is practically naked.

"Geroff," he mumbles, poking one finger into Jack's side. Jack flinches away from the finger then resettles, nuzzling his nose into Mark's chest.

"'M cold."

Mark's of the opinion that if Jack is cold, then he shouldn't have taken all his clothes off before getting into bed with Mark. Or he should possibly be getting under the covers. Of his own bed. But it's all too much trouble to articulate, so he settles for rolling over onto his other side, thereby dislodging his bedmate. Hah.

Except Jack makes a displeased noise and, a moment later, thumps down on top of Mark. The sudden weight pushes Mark over onto his stomach and now he has a backfull of Jack, like the world's heaviest blanket. Although really, Jack is making him nice and warm.

Mark mulls the problem over for several minutes, while Jack shifts around and makes himself comfortable. Finally, his best friend settles with his cheek against Mark's shoulder blade and lets out a contented sigh. And since Mark's really pretty comfy himself by now, there's only one thing to do.

"Better not drool on me," he mumbles.

Jack makes a sleepy noise that might mean anything from 'yes, Mark, I hear you loud and clear' to 'did you say something' to 'frick you, jerk, you're waking up in a puddle' and worms an arm underneath Mark's chest. And this? This has crossed the line from using Mark as a personal space heater to cuddling.

Mark's surprisingly okay with that.

"Back t'sleep," Jack orders. Shifting on top of Mark, he hooks a leg over Mark's hip, covering him even more completely. "Thinkin' too loud."

"Cuddler," Mark accuses. Cause, yeah, it feels good, but this is _Jack_. There's some kind of law about mocking your best friend in this type of situation.

Except it is hard to mock when all Jack does is moan in agreement.

Mark yawns. "Usually I get some sex before somebody tries to suffocate me," he points out.

Instead of freaking out and protesting, like he's supposed to, Jack mumbles, "Promise t'fook ya in th' mornin' if it'll make ya feel better," with a single, lazy roll of his hips.

Now Mark is awake, yes he is. He's wide awake and his heart is... racing? Oh Christ, it is. He's wide awake and more than slightly aroused.

On top of him, Jack starts to snore.

 **Dear Readers,**

 **Okay, all right, so this is my first Septiplier story, so please be nice! I would like to clarify that I do not ship them in real life, and I realize that they are both straight and have girl friends, but I have fallen in love with the ship in fanfic-verse, so I couldn't resist writing one of my own. I honestly love these guys and all they do for others and charity, so this fic really doesn't reflect what I really think of them. It is supposed to be a humorous story that I was inspired to do by a prompt. Anyway, please tell me if you would like to see a continuation of this fic or more of this type of one-shot again. I am even open for more prompts for this ship or any other :). PLEASE don't be a silent reader!**

 **~Jaz**


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